3.5 stars

Equal part San Fransisco travelogue and Lovecraftian fantasy/horror, I went into Our Lady of Darkness expecting a moody, vintage horror, but ended up being more enamored by its documentary-like depiction of place. The best way to consume Our Lady of Darkness is to read it with Google maps open, following along the protagonist as he uncovers the dark secret hidden beneath this Califronian concrete jungle. The relentless reference to real-life streets, neighborhoods, and landmarks not only adds a layer of chilling credibility (it can be difficult to tell apart what's factual and what's fabricated at times), but ensures the story is solidly rooted in San Francisco, and not just some surface-level, touristy name dropping in an agnostic plot.

As much as I enjoyed the city-as-a-puzzle aspect, I came to realize I'm simply not the biggest fan of stories on occult — and Our Lady of Darkness is all about that. In addition, the storytelling style is consistently passive, involving long segments of characters exchanging knowledge and finding. For readers interested in the subject matter, I could see this thorough lore/world-building being immensely immersive, but I was ready for some action to happen. Overall, the stake simply didn't feel high enough, the story concluded just when something remotely fantastical finally materialized.

Our Lady of Darkness is definitely one of the more unique reading experience I've had this year so far; while the puzzle-solving plot reminds me of more recent novel like Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore, and the protagonist's obsessive persona echos that from John Darnielle's Devil House, I was very much fascinated by its core concept of city as a concentrated source of metaphysical energy — not a new favorite, but very happy I checked it out.